


to die by your side

by winchesters



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: M/M, i hate these dumb french hunks okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-18
Updated: 2013-03-18
Packaged: 2017-12-05 16:54:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/725622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winchesters/pseuds/winchesters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In another lifetime, under different circumstances, they might have lived. In this lifetime, despite everything, they loved.</p>
            </blockquote>





	to die by your side

**Author's Note:**

> Did I cry while writing this? Maybe.

I.  
Tonight it is two lovers in the moonlight, Enjolras pressing Grantaire against the wall, his kiss sweeter than wine. Grantaire whimpers and shifts beneath him, fingers tangled in Enjolras' curly hair, keening against his Apollo's lips. Enjolras holds him at a distance, studying the panting, writhing cynic.   
"The things you do to me," says Enjolras slowly. "You drive me mad, do you know that?"  
A smug smirk slides onto Grantaire's face.  
"I do it on purpose, monsieur. I pretend the bottle is your lips when I press my mouth to it."   
He relishes in how wide Enjolras' eyes grow, blown dark with lust.  
"I do it on purpose," he purrs, relishing how the words drip from his mouth. "I like to watch you squirm."  
Enjolras shoves him against the wall, pinning him with strong hands and with sharp kisses.   
"You are mine," he growls, mouth against Grantaire's neck, marking him with purple bruises that will show in the morning. "You are mine."

II.  
And in the morning, it's Grantaire sprawled across the narrow bed, naked from the waist up, and Enjolras writing at his desk, stealing glances at his lover's prone form. Grantaire's ribs shift under his skin as he breathes, his eyelids twitching, and it's a reminder that he's whole and alive and the revolution can wait for a few minutes now, in this early morning light. Tomorrow things will be different-there will be riots and guns and blood in the street-but for now they are just two lovers. 

III.  
And tomorrow, there is blood running red through the streets. There are barricades and muskets, gunpowder and bodies. The corpses of those Enjolras knew-of those Enjolras loved like brothers-are lying in the gutter, their blood staining the cobbles scarlet. Boys too young to be fighting, boys too gentle and too kind. Poets and doctors and lawyers. Not soldiers. And the broken promise of what they might have become weighs so heavily on his shoulders. He feels as if he is Atlas, holding up the immense, crushing weight of the world. And then there is the Musain-the last stronghold, the window above the last barricade in the city. And more of his brothers fall around him, and he is alone. Alone at the end of the world, in this red light.   
At first he wonders if he is seeing an angel, or perhaps a ghost. His lover staggers towards him, drunk, eyes wild, his hair a dark halo around his pale face. But he is lucid-he declares himself a revolutionary, asks to be shot alongside his leader. And he puts his hand in Enjolras', and he asks:  
"Do you permit it?"  
And Enjolras nods and squeezes Grantaire's hand, because what else can he say? They were always meant to go out like this: with a whimper and a bang. In gunsmoke. They were meant to go together.  
Their fingers tangle together, clumsy, like first-time lovers. And Enjolras thinks that yes, this is how it should be, skin-against-skin with the one he loves. He raises his banner. Beside him Grantaire whimpers, barely audible, and Enjolras knows that he is afraid, and maybe he, too, is frightened. But he lifts the flag and his fingers tremble on the cloth and he sees the bright flash of gunpowder like so many brilliant stars.

IV.   
They fell together. Yesterday, today, tomorrow. All at once, together.


End file.
